


The Gift

by St_Salieri



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-25
Updated: 2005-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place five years after the events of _Not Fade Away_. Buffy was reunited with Spike shortly before the final battle.

_Once upon a time, there was a girl who stole the heart of a monster._

_She was brave and forthright, as every good hero should be. At the cost of her own life, she fought the demons and battled the forces of evil. Even when burdened by her own fears and doubts, even with the weight of the world resting on her thin shoulders, her goodness shone as brightly as any star. She was full of love, and the power of her love helped the monster become a man. She was his purpose, and he was her strength._

_They fought side by side in the final battle, and together they wrought a miracle. The soul of the monster -- the soul that should never have existed -- harnessed the power to save the world. And even though they were parted for a time, they were never truly separated. Death itself could not keep them apart._

_The monster was returned to the world, and he continued to fight the good fight. He was reunited with the girl, and together they did battle against the armies of darkness. In the end, he was rewarded by becoming a real boy. The monster became a champion, and the champion became a man._

_If this was a proper fairy tale, it would end here with a happily ever after. But their story had never been a fairy tale._

**********

Spike stared up at the lights of the flat that he'd shared with Buffy for the past two years. Night had fallen, and the glow of the lamps behind the thick glass was a cozy contrast to the bitter damp of London in December. He could see a shape silhouetted behind the thin curtains, and then Buffy's hand as the curtains were twitched aside to allow her to peer out. Spike gave a twisted smile.

She could feel him coming. Somehow, impossibly, she could still feel him coming.

Five years had passed since the Hellmouth collapsed, four since the near destruction of Los Angeles. He'd been reunited with Buffy after a disastrous trip to Rome, and she'd been there for the final battle against the Black Thorn. She'd also been there for the fulfillment of the Shanshu prophecy.

Humanity, as it turned out, was a bitch. Dealing with the abrupt changes in himself had been one of the hardest things Spike had ever done.

Against all odds, they'd been together ever since. They'd fought, they'd argued, they'd thrown punches, and on more than one occasion each of them had stormed out and vowed never to return. And through it all, they'd loved each other as hard as possible. They spent some time in Los Angeles before returning to Rome, and then moved to London to be closer to the rebuilt Council of Watchers. As the oldest living Slayer, Buffy represented a near-mythic figure to the young girls around the world who were just discovering their powers. She was still _The_ Slayer, the first among many.

At least, she had been until three months ago. It all ended, as these things usually did, with a demon.

Buffy had been on a routine training patrol through London with some of the young Slayers when they'd been set upon by a trio of Galaxhar demons. None of the girls had been seriously injured; the demons had focused all of their attention on Buffy, and before they were killed, one of them had managed to slice open Buffy's hand with an intricately carved knife.

Buffy had shrugged off the injury, which seemed relatively minor at the time. The wound had healed quickly, leaving behind a thin white scar, and for several weeks Spike forgot all about it. And then he noticed that something about Buffy seemed...off. She grew clumsy, banging her shins on the coffee table and collecting bruises that wouldn't heal. Her aim was off; books that she tossed ended up on the floor instead of the desk. One night she dissolved into tears when Spike, to his surprise, found himself able to easily overpower her during their usual roughhousing. He'd spent that night on the sofa listening to her sob herself to sleep. She hadn't allowed him to comfort her. The next morning, he'd gone to talk to Giles.

It turned out that Spike wasn't the only one to notice the gradual change in Buffy's condition. Although she had tried to hide it with an uncharacteristic focus on research instead of training, her altered abilities hadn't escaped Giles' notice. She'd managed to deflect his concern with talk of a flu that had been going around, but Spike's insistence that something was wrong was the final straw for Giles. When Buffy reported in that day, he ordered her to get a physical and wouldn't take no for an answer.

She wouldn't talk to Spike for a week after that.

Spike had spent the next twenty-four hours with his heart in his throat, imagining all kinds of diseases, supernatural and otherwise. When the tests came back, they showed that Buffy was a normal, healthy girl. Completely normal...and completely human. Her Slayer abilities -- her enhanced strength, quick reflexes and rapid healing -- were simply gone, as if they had never been there.

It was Giles who finally traced the cause to the attack Buffy had suffered several weeks before. They dug up the knife from Archives and sent it in for further tests. After extensive research (including threatening the life of more that one underworld informant), it was determined that the Galaxhar were mercenary demons hired by a clan of vampires whose leader Buffy had dispatched seven years ago -- a leader who had been such a pathetic fighter that none of them even remembered him until Giles consulted his diaries. Unbeknownst to them, the clan had sworn their eternal revenge. Spike had to laugh at the bitter irony of it all. Not even Angelus had been able to best this Slayer; instead, a ragtag group of wannabe Big Bads had had the unholy luck to stumble upon a fiendishly clever way of dispatching the Slayer for good.

As Giles explained it, the knife was laced with a simple poison that was similar to the concoction he'd used to rob Buffy of her powers for the Cruciamentum test so many years ago. The drugs should have worn off weeks ago, but one of the Council's mystics discovered a subtle curse attached to the knife that kept the potion intact in Buffy's body. Even the most powerful witches at the Council's disposal hadn't been able to remove the curse that stole her power. She was unharmed in any other way, but she had no way of accessing the mystical forces that had been at her disposal ever since her calling. It was a diabolically clever plan, one that the Council hadn't yet found a solution for.

The next month was a nightmare. As Buffy came to terms with her changing condition, she alternated between forced cheerfulness and fits of depression. She insisted to everyone that she was fine -- that she was looking forward to a vacation, and hadn't she always wanted to have her normal life back anyway? Spike knew she was lying; he recognized the coping mechanisms as the ones he had used when trying to deal with the sudden reappearance of his humanity. To his complete lack of surprise, Buffy avoided him, as though she sensed that he knew the truth. He tried to give her the space she needed, until one night she stumbled home with a shattered wrist and a deep cut to her leg. She had been trying to patrol on her own. After she was released from the hospital, they'd had one of their biggest fights to date.

Spike had been at his wits end. He'd tried to talk, he'd tried to listen, he'd tried to give her space. Buffy wouldn't accept his comfort or support, and with every day that passed, she'd sunk deeper into her depression and they'd drifted further apart. In desperation, he hit upon a plan. He knew it was a long shot, and chances were it would fail as spectacularly as most of his plans seemed to. But he simply couldn't accept the hollow shell of a girl Buffy had become. He swallowed his pride and contacted Angel for help.

He hadn't wanted to tell Buffy that he had a possible lead on a cure, so he'd simply told her that he was going to L.A. for a little while to help Angel with something. She'd simply nodded in acknowledgement, and the distance in her eyes broke his heart. That night he'd cried as he made love to her one last time.

It was only much later that Spike realized that Buffy's acceptance had actually been resignation. Despite everything they'd been through together, at some subconscious level she'd expected him to leave her once her powers were gone. He kicked himself for not realizing it at the time.

It was Angel who reluctantly provided the information that allowed Spike to access the Powers that Be. Fueled by his anger and pity, he'd raged against them, demanding to know why this should happen to their chosen warrior. Something about him -- maybe their amusement that such a lowly creature would demand their services -- seemed to interest them. He couldn't care less what unfathomable reasons were behind their actions. The most important thing was that he'd been able to strike a bargain with them.

When he was returned to this realm, Spike discovered that, during his moment with the Powers, six weeks had passed. Buffy had been leaving increasingly frantic messages with Angel, who had been doing his best to reassure her that Spike was fine. The final one, from three weeks ago, simply said, _Spike, please come home...._

Spike took one last look at the lighted windows of their flat before exhaling a stream of smoke and crushing the cigarette beneath the sole of his boot. He was finally home. It was now the day before Christmas, and he'd come to bring Buffy a present. Like every gift, it had come at a price. He could only hope that she'd be able to accept it.

_Right. Time to see how the story ends._

**********

The door flew open before he could touch the handle. Buffy stood on the other side, her eyes large in her pale face and her chin wobbling slightly. He stared at her frozen form, drinking her in, before she launched herself at him. He grabbed her in a fierce hug, tightening his arms around her and burying his face in her neck.

The last six weeks had been the longest of his life.

"Buffy," he moaned. He heard her give a shaky laugh.

"You're back," she said, giving him a wide, stupid grin. He thought she'd never looked more beautiful. "Of course you're back," she added, rolling her eyes and smiling ruefully.

"You got my message I was on my way?"

"Yeah." She narrowed her eyes a bit at him. "Nice of you to keep in touch while you were gone. I was about to come out there and mount a rescue operation. Because Angel? The suckiest liar ever."

"Don't I know it," he muttered, and she flashed him another grin before looking at his thin coat with concern.

"God, you're freezing," she said, grabbing his hands and rubbing them between hers. "It's supposed to snow. I was hoping you'd make it back tonight. Dawn's in town visiting, and I got a tree...mmmph!"

She broke off with a grunt as Spike swooped in and dropped a firm kiss on her mouth. He squeezed her fingers as she deepened the kiss, tilting her head to nuzzle her nose against him. God, they fit together so perfectly. He pulled away and smiled softly at her.

"You look good."

"I feel good," she said quietly. "Not perfect, but...good. Especially good now that you're here. I had some time to think about some things while you were gone. I guess I've got a few things to tell you." She looked nervous, and he felt his heart clench in his chest. "Maybe the hall isn't the best place...?"

She was about to lead him into the apartment when he grabbed her and pulled her into another desperate kiss. She gave a gasp of surprise that he quickly swallowed, cradling her head tenderly between her hands. _This is it. She's going to find out, and you'll lose her. It's all over._

Buffy held him tightly as if she sensed his sudden despair, and after a moment she pulled back with a frown.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping back to look at him. "It's okay. You're home now." She took his left hand and started rubbing it absentmindedly again. "You're still so cold," she said. "You should get warmed up before you..." Her eyes suddenly grew large, and she took a step back, dropping his hand.

_Oh God. She knows._

"Buffy," he said desperately, reaching for her as she backed slowly into the apartment. "It's not what you..."

"What did you _do_?" Her voice was low and dangerous, and he shivered at the dead look in her eyes.

"I have some things to tell you too," he said, trying to stay calm. "Please, let me just talk to you for a few minutes. If you want, I'll go away when I'm finished. You won't have to see me again."

Buffy was shaking her head frantically, tears trembling on her eyelashes. "No. _No._ Oh my God." She covered her mouth with her hand, swallowing back a sob. "You think I'd want you to leave? Spike, _what did you do?_ "

"Please, Buffy." He spoke roughly past the lump in his throat. He knew he was begging, but he didn't know what else to do. All of his carefully prepared explanations had completely disappeared from his mind. "It's me. You know me." In his misery, he could do no more than hold out his hand, silently pleading with her to take it. "Buffy," he whispered fiercely, "you _know_ me."

After a frozen moment, Buffy stepped back out through the doorway and raised her hand to his, lacing their fingers together. She studied his face carefully for a long minute, blinking tears away. "I see you," she said, giving him a crooked smile. She stepped away and stiffened her back, all business. "Okay, we'll talk." 

She walked into the apartment, then turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. Her face crumpled slightly when he merely winced apologetically instead of following her in. "You need to be invited in, don't you." It wasn't a question, and she didn't bother to look up for his nod. "Come in, Spike."

The inside of the flat was as warm and cozy as it had looked from the outside. Buffy had indeed put up a tree, a rather bedraggled looking affair festooned with mismatched ornaments. He recognized one of them, a cheap and tacky plastic statuette of Count Chocula that he'd given her for a gag gift last Christmas. Buffy perched herself stiffly on the sofa across from the fireplace, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. Spike hesitated before sitting down gingerly next to her. They sat in silence for a long minute before Buffy stirred restlessly.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted, staring at the fire. Her eyes widened, and she turned to Spike. "Did Angel...oh my God, did Angel do this? I'm going to _kill_ him!"

Spike burst out into a sobbing laugh. Buffy looked at him as if he had gone crazy.

"It was...it was the bloody Powers," Spike wheezed. Buffy's mouth dropped open, and he sobered quickly. "It was my choice."

Buffy leaned against the far side of the sofa, staring at the fire again. "Tell me," she said quietly.

And so Spike told her everything. He told her of the link to the Conduit that Angel had given him. He told her of how, in his rage and pain, he'd dared to threaten the Powers that Be. And he told her of the bargain he'd made.

He moved to kneel in front of her, but she still wouldn't look at him. She sat curled in on herself, her face crumpled and awash in tears. Reaching up, he gently ran his thumb over her cheek until she gave a choked sob and grabbed his hand.

"It was an exchange." His voice was no steadier than hers, and he cleared his throat before going on. "Don't know if you've ever noticed this, but they're not big on giving anything away for free. I asked for a miracle...and they wanted one back. They undid the prophecy, and in return they gave me what I asked for."

Spike dug into his pocket and removed the precious vial he'd been carrying. He dropped it into Buffy's hand, curling her fingers around it.

"It'll make you what you were," he said. "No more curse, no more poison. You'll be the Slayer again." He squeezed the hand that held the vial. "I made my choice, and I'd do it again. No regrets, yeah? This is yours, to do with what you want. If you want to throw it away? We'll never speak of it again. It's your decision now, love."

**********

"You...you did this for me?" Buffy sat up, wiping her face and looking at the vial Spike had given her. She gave him a hard glance. "I didn't ask you to do this," she said, her voice shaking, but this time from fury rather than sorrow. "I _never_ asked you to do this!" She pushed him away and strode to the other end of the room, pacing back and forth. "You could have been _killed_ ," she ranted. "Do you think my superpowers are more important than that? God!" She choked, and started crying again. "Spike, this was your reward! You shouldn't have done that."

Spike started chuckling. He couldn't help himself. She was absolutely magnificent in her righteous indignation. He hadn't seen her this full of life in months, and he felt a sense of lightness just watching her. No matter what her decision, she knew now what he was. The agony of imagining her reaction was finally over.

"No, you don't," he said firmly. "You don't get to do that." He rolled to his feet and leaned against the wall, watching Buffy pace. "I did this because I wanted to. Of course you didn't ask for this, you silly bint. That's why they call it a gift."

Buffy stared at him, trembling, before throwing the vial across the room. He caught it neatly and tucked it back into his pocket, watching her carefully. She sank back down to the sofa, burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe this is happening," she muttered, her voice muffled. "Just when I'd finally..." She broke off and let out a bitter laugh. "Time to come clean, I guess," she said, her voice dry and her face as white as bone. "Time for your present, Spike."

Buffy walked over to the fireplace and grabbed a thick envelope from the mantle, twisting it in her fingers nervously.

"I was saving this in case you came back in time for Christmas," she said. "I told you that I'd been doing a lot of thinking while you were away. It was...it was hard. Losing my powers, being a normal girl...it was a lot harder than I expected. And I know it wasn't easy on you either."

She looked up at Spike, and he gave her a soft smile. "You were better at it that I was," he admitted. "Remember me after the Shanshu, trying to deal with being a human again? I was a mess, Buffy. I don't know how you put up with me."

She gave a wry smile. "I don't know how you put up with me either. But I realized that it was something that we'd both gone through. I kept telling you to think of the Shanshu as a gift from the Powers, and..." she trailed off and shook her head. "I guess I decided to take my own advice. Maybe this was supposed to be something good, for both of us. What if it was the next step in our lives, and I was missing out on it by crying about what I'd lost?" She fingered the thick cream envelope and seemed to hesitate slightly before handing it to Spike. "I thought maybe it was time to give real life a try." She nodded at Spike. "You can open it."

After one last curious glance at Buffy, Spike lifted the corner of the envelope and slid the contents out into his hand. He caught his breath. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, staring at what he held.

On the top was a picture of a beautiful beach house. The sun was shining down on a rocky beach, and in the background was the bluest water Spike had ever seen. Taped on top of the picture was a cutout of him and Buffy that he recognized from a trip to Rome to visit Dawn last year. They were standing in the sun smiling, their arms around each other. The two figures had been attached to the picture so that they were standing on the sand in front of the beach house. In case there was any doubt as to the meaning of the picture, Spike saw that Buffy had written "OURS!" with a marker in big bold letters, an arrow pointing to the house. Beneath the picture were two plane tickets and a set of what appeared to be legal documents.

"Oh," he whispered, his heart breaking. "Buffy..."

"Not a big deal," Buffy said airily. He didn't think she even noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks. "It was just...it was just something I thought of. I thought this was supposed to be our chance to have a normal life together in the sun -- no demons, no vampires, no fight against evil. I thought that maybe we were both finished, and this was supposed to be our reward." She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes furiously. "I know you said once that you'd given up dreaming of the house with the picket fence. But I thought...well, maybe this would be more our style. It's in Monterey. Do you know how much cash the Council has socked away?" She gave him a watery grin. "Even after everything that happened, Giles wanted me to stay on to advise the Slayers. I convinced him to give me early retirement. I figured the Council owed me one."

Without further thought, Spike reached up and pulled Buffy onto his lap. She straddled him, hugging him tightly, and he rocked her slowly as they both cried. They sat there, silent except for comforting murmurs, until the fire started to flicker and die. Buffy finally pulled back, her face blotched and puffy but her eyes clear.

"You can still have it, you know," Spike murmured. "Forget the potion. You can take that early retirement, have the normal life."

Buffy shook her head fiercely. "Not without you," she said, her voice husky.

"Well, the beach may not be the ideal location for a vampire, but we could probably make do." He hugged her again, tangling his fingers in her hair and tilting her face so he could land a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. "God, I'm so sorry."

"I'm not," Buffy said after a long moment. "It's just...part of the weirdness of us, I guess."

"Plenty of that to go around," Spike said, and Buffy let out a bark of laughter. He felt her fingers digging into his pocket, and he straightened out to give her easier access. She extracted the vial and held it up to the light curiously.

"I meant what I said, you know," he said quietly. "It's your decision. Either way, I'll be with you to the end. You know that."

"Yes," Buffy said, caressing his face gently as he leaned into her touch. "I know."

**********

"Oh, _God_ ," Buffy moaned, stretching contentedly. "That was...wow. And the thing with the...did I mention wow?" She gave a soppy grin and fell back on to the bed. Spike curled contentedly around her, stroking her breast and dropping kisses on her face.

"Not too bad," Spike said smugly. "Looks like I've still got it." He eyed Buffy curiously as she lay flushed and panting. "How you feeling, love?"

Buffy blinked thoughtfully. "Okay, I think." She pulled Spike into a tight hug, then quicker than a flash flipped him on the bed so that she sat straddled on top of him. "Definitely okay," she said with a smug grin and a wiggle of her hips.

"Looks like you're back," Spike said, caressing her hips with a smile. "Any regrets?"

Buffy shook her head decidedly. "Nope. I guess I'm back in business." She moaned as she felt him harden beneath her, and she switched her hips slowly back and forth. "I guess you are too," she said breathlessly, then gasped as Spike pulled her down to lie next to him.

"I have to ask..." Spike said, then trailed off.

"What?" Buffy asked. She looked at Spike closely, and her face softened. "It's not better," she said quietly.

"What isn't?"

"The whole human vs. vampire thing," she answered. "It's not better with you as a vampire, and it's not worse either. It's just...different. But it's still you, and that's the most important thing. Does that make sense?" Spike nodded, in awe that she was able to read him so well. "I loved you as a vampire," she whispered, dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. "And then I loved you as a human, and now I love you as a vampire again. You're still you, and you're the man I love."

He wasn't able to answer her, instead pulling her down for a long kiss. Having his supernatural powers back was...exhilarating. He could taste her, feel her, sense her, in a way that he'd never been able to as a human. But at the same time, he wasn't able to share her breath, or hear the pounding of his own heart, or feel their mingled sweat run over his body. Ultimately, it was a trade-off, and he was grateful for the experience of truly having Buffy, in every sense of the word.

"Same goes for you," he said. "I'm in love with the girl, not the powers. If you'd never taken that bloody potion? I wouldn't have loved you a whit less, and I never would have left you." She gave a half shrug, and he shook her lightly, forcing her to look at him. "You _know_ that, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a small smile. "I know. I just...I still can't believe what you've done, Spike, what you gave up. That's an amazing gift to accept, and...I just wish I could give you something in return."

Spike gave her a tender smile. He knew something she didn't, and it was something he hadn't been sure of until they were making love. When he'd first come in, he'd noticed that her scent seemed subtly different -- richer, more vibrant. He'd chalked it up to the effects of the curse, but now that her body was free of it, he knew for sure that it was something else instead.

Maybe there were some miracles that didn't have to be bargained for.

"You've already got another present for me," he said, leaning down to kiss her and resting his hand on the flat of her lower abdomen. "I'm guessing it's something we gave to each other before I left." 

Her eyes widened and she gasped, twining her fingers with his. "What?" she said faintly. "Are you saying...are you sure?"

He laughed at her stunned expression, shaking his head in mock disgust. "You modern girls. Don't you know the workings of your own bodies?" He lowered his head and breathed into her ear, feeling her tremble. "I can smell it on you, Buffy, even if you don't know it yet." He pulled back to look at her beautiful, laughing face, wanting to freeze this moment forever.

"Happy Christmas, Slayer."

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, I owe a huge debt to O. Henry and his Christmas story, [The Gift of the Magi](http://www.night.net/christmas/Gift-Magi.html). I wanted to do a Spuffy twist on that classic tale.


End file.
